Now when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very corners of your field, nor shall you gather the gleanings of your harvest. Nor shall you glean your vineyard. Nor shall you gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard. You shall leave them for the needy and the stranger. I AM the LORD your God. Leviticus 19:9-10.

This is not generosity. It is simply starting by not hoarding.

Not being tightfisted, not gathering every crumb. Leaving the excess from the bounty that God has provided for others. Not exhausting my rights.

A gentile woman challenged Jesus on this principle. She pleaded for Jesus’ healing touch on her daughter. Jesus hesitated. “I’m sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Yes, she responded. But even the “dogs” (and she was one, in the vernacular of that day) are allowed to lick up the crumbs from under the table. Jesus commended her great faith and delivered the healing she requested. Jesus’ ministry was in fact to Israel. But so great was His ministry that the overflow extended to us gentiles.

We had a grapefruit tree in the backyard where I grew up, next to the alley. The “garbage men,” as we called them back then, came through twice a week to serve us by hauling away our refuse. Occasionally they would reach out from their truck (which was hauling away our garbage) and take a few grapefruit.

My selfish reaction: how dare they take what is ours. My cold, hard selfish heart.

These grapefruit grew from a living plant, soil and sun, none of which I had the least responsibility for producing. We had far more than we could eat. My parents were always giving away sacks of grapefruit to anyone who would take them. Many fell to the ground and rotted. But I was focused on clinging to what I thought was “mine.” I was exalting a warped sense of supposed property “rights” over kindness and generosity.

My friend who farms in the Imperial Valley reports that leaving excess for gleaners is still the practice by farmers today.

I have no farm. Today I have no grapefruit tree. What is it that I do I have, where I should leave excess for the gleaners? What are the “edges of my field” that I should not “harvest” and selfishly cling to?

For my staff and co-workers, how can I leave excess for them, without squeezing Scrooge-like to pay out miserly only what is precisely due? For my clients, how can I over deliver value and service? For vendors and service providers, who serve my every comfort, indulgence and convenience, how can I be sure excess is falling their way? For people around me, how can I extend an extra moment, an extra smile, an extra hand, a word of encouragement or greeting? For those in need, whose needs I can touch and meet? How can I live more open handed rather than tightfisted?

This is not even generosity. I have a long way to go to get there. This is just the bare minimum, the starting place. I must start by leaving the edges of my field unharvested.

It starts by recognizing that like Ruth who gleaned from Boaz, and the woman who “gleaned” from Jesus, what has come to me is a king’s ransom of wealth and abundance. Someone else planted and fertilized. I undeservedly glean from their harvest. None of it is mine, or from the work of my own hand. It is grace upon grace. It is largess I do not deserve. And it is more than I need or can use, and I must pour out to others. Leaving a little margin at the edge of the field is the very least I can do.

I hope this is just a start of more. Perhaps this intentional relinquishment of rights will lead to actual generosity, as the first beginnings of a heart change.

At the barest minimum, I must leave a few grapefruit within arm’s reach.

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